


Last Year's Wishes Are This Year's Apologies

by Zee



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Drunk Making Out, Drunk Ushijima, Facials, First Time, Future Fic, M/M, Oral Sex, Pining, Underage Drinking, University, drunk oikawa, emetophobia warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 07:20:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6557077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zee/pseuds/Zee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oikawa is rude and vulgar, Ushijima is offended. Then tequila shots get thrown into the mix, and while their impact is significant, they don't make Oikawa any less rude or vulgar.</p><p>Future fic with Oikawa and Ushijima playing on the same university team.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Year's Wishes Are This Year's Apologies

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Fall Out Boy's "I'm Like A Lawyer With The Way I'm Always Trying To Get You Off (Me & You)."

“Go suck a dick, Ushiwaka.”

Oikawa spat the words and then turned his back on Ushijima, stalking off to the locker room and effectively ending their extra practice session. Ushijima watched him go, too shocked and offended by the vulgarity to say anything in response.

These practice sessions had been mandated by the coach, and this particular session was not supposed to end for another fifteen minutes. Ushijima could not believe that Oikawa was immature enough to end this session early, just because he and Ushijima had gotten into an argument. He'd thought better of Oikawa.

Then again, the whole impetus for these practice sessions had been the coach’s observation that Oikawa only ever tossed to Ushijima as a last resort and sometimes not even then, which must mean that Oikawa was not yet familiar enough with Ushijima’s playing style, which could be fixed by several weeks of extra practice sessions for just the two of them, in addition to the regular team practices. Ushijima thought that it was extremely charitable of their coach to assume Oikawa's behavior stemmed from anything other than a petty and immature grudge from high school.

Ushijima did not mind the extra hours of practice, but he did mind being reprimanded for something that was entirely Oikawa's fault. He had been nothing but civil to Oikawa since they ended up on the same university team, and he had played just the same as he always had. Oikawa refusing to toss to him was not something he could help.

The injustice had put him in a bad mood for their practice. Usually he tried to ignore the constant needling from Oikawa, but today he had risen to it, and they'd argued. When Oikawa had brought up high school, Ushijima had snapped, “We were competitors, and my goal was always to win. Are you so sensitive that--”

He had not gotten the chance to finish his sentence, because Oikawa had thrown a volleyball at his face (Ushijima had blocked it) and then told him to go suck a dick, and then left. Ushijima heard the double doors to the gym slam, and realized that Oikawa had not even bothered to shower, had just grabbed his things and was now gone . 

_Are you really going to hate me forever because I beat you in high school?_ This was the question Ushijima had intended to ask, but irritation had made it come out wrong. Ushijima could understand why Oikawa had gotten upset with him, although nothing excused his vulgarity or his decision to end their practice short. He would have hoped that Oikawa would be above this. Really, he would have hoped that Oikawa would have been above choosing not to toss to him in the first place, thus avoiding this whole situation. Such immaturity did not mesh well with the (admittedly, idealized) image of Oikawa that Ushijima had formed in high school.

Ushijima was almost as angry with himself as he was with Oikawa. He reached down to pick up the volleyball Oikawa had thrown at him, and tossed it up toward the ceiling, spiking it down on the other side of the net as hard as he could. The noise it made upon impact was satisfying, although he could not help but wish that Oikawa had been around to hear it. 

***

That night Ushijima went out to a party hosted by the university volleyball department. It was the current captain’s birthday as well as a celebration for their entrance into the first tournament of the school year, and although this event was theoretically not mandatory, it would have been disrespectful not to attend. Even so, Ushijima toyed with the idea of making some excuse (a stomach virus, perhaps) to get out of it; he was not in the mood to drink or be friendly, and he did not want to try to do either of those things around Oikawa after his earlier rudeness.

But he did not want to lie to his senpai, and he knew that the truth would not be considered a valid excuse. So he arrived at the room that had been rented for the party (it was in some hotel in what seemed to Ushijima like a very fancy part of town) at the designated time, and was unsurprised to see Oikawa already involved in animated conversation with two upperclassmen. Oikawa was telling some sort of story, gesturing with the drink in his hand, and the upperclassmen were both paying rapt attention. Naturally Oikawa had already formed easy friendships with what seemed like the whole team, while Ushijima had yet to cultivate those relationships.

Ushijima found the team captain and wished him happy birthday, then went to the bar in the corner to get a drink. The bartender made him a gin and tonic without asking to check any kind of identification--perhaps, since this was a private party, he assumed that everyone here was of age, or perhaps this bartender had been hired with instructions to look the other way. Regardless, Ushijima was glad. He did not usually turn to alcohol to solve his problems, but he didn’t want to try to get through tonight entirely sober.

There were a few tables and chairs, across the room from where most of the partygoers were standing around. Ushijima sat down, his back to them. He could hear Oikawa’s voice behind him, a warm tenor that somehow cut through all other noise in the room. He was talking about Iwaizumi, and about the beach. 

It was wrong to eavesdrop. Ushijima focused on his drink. He’d never had one of these before, but it tasted pretty good. It was easier to drink than any other kind of liquor he’d tried. Since he had nothing else to do, he found himself drinking it fast, his glass half-empty after what seemed like only moments.

“Ushijima? Ushijima Wakatoshi?” Ushijima looked up, surprised, to see a man standing across the table from him, grinning and giving a little wave of his fingers. Ushijima didn’t recognize him, and wondered how this man knew his name.

“Hello,” Ushijima said. 

The man grinned wider, as if Ushijima had said something better than a simple greeting. “I was hoping you’d be here. I used to play on this team, graduated a couple years ago. But I’ve been following _your_ career since you were at Shiratorizawa.”

The only people that had followed Ushijima’s high school career, at least to his knowledge, had been members of his fan club or scouts for universities. But he supposed it made sense that there would be others. All of those magazine articles about him had probably been read by at least a few people.

“Idane Reiji.” The man--Idane--extended his hand, and Ushijima shook it. The handshake lasted a second or two longer than Ushijima had expected, although perhaps the alcohol was altering his perception of time.

“Let me buy you a drink,” Idane said. He beckoned to someone over Ushijima’s shoulder, and Ushijima realized that in addition to the cash bar in the corner, there were waiters floating through the crowd, ready to take orders. This party must have been absurdly expensive to put on. It illustrated the differences between playing at the university level vs. high school. 

“I haven’t finished with my first drink,” Ushijima said, but Idane was already ordering. When the waiter had left, he turned back to Ushijima.

“It’s always good to have a backup, right?” He winked, which struck Ushijima as a little weird, then sat down in the chair across from Ushijima. The table was not large, and their knees touched. Ushijima politely angled his leg away.

Behind him, he thought he heard Oikawa’s voice rise and sharpen, although there were enough other people around now talking that Ushijima couldn’t make out his individual words. 

“So how do you like playing at the university level?” Idane leaned forward with his chin on one hand, all his interest focused on Ushijima. Ushijima felt self-conscious, and took another sip from his drink.

He answered Idane’s questions as well as he could. When their drinks came, Idane handed Ushijima his gin and tonic, and their fingers touched. Ushijima found himself drinking the second drink even faster than the first, in large part because he could not help but wish to be done with this conversation. Which he felt guilty about--this man had followed Ushijima’s volleyball career, he was being perfectly courteous and he had bought Ushijima a drink--but he was not in the mood for a drawn-out conversation with a stranger.

Also, their legs kept touching, and it was embarrassing. After several instances of shifting his legs away from Idane’s, Ushijima finally gave up, and did not moving his own leg away when he felt Idane’s knee rub along the outside of his thigh. Shortly after this, Idane scooted his chair closer, leaning in far enough that his breath was almost in Ushijima’s face. Ushijima leaned back in his chair.

He let his thoughts drift as Idane asked him question after question. Idane’s gaze was so intent on his face, and in his discomfort Ushjima found himself staring down into his drink, his answers getting shorter and shorter. 

After a while he noticed, dimly, that Idane was touching him, his fingers pressing lightly on the back of Ushijima’s hand. It seemed like an odd gesture and Ushijima did not know how to react, so much like Idane’s leg touching his beneath the table, he let it happen. He did not want to offend Idane, he simply wanted this conversation to be over. He let his mind wander far away, replaying the events from the afternoon, that painful argument with Oikawa. Surely there had to be a way to interact with Oikawa without every conversation turning ugly. Surely he could get Oikawa to show him the side he displayed with his other teammates, with Iwaizumi and the rest of Seijoh. Ushijima just had to figure out how.

When a few seconds passed in silence, Ushijima brought his attention back to the conversation and realized that Idane was looking at him expectantly. With a sinking feeling, Ushijima wondered if he had just answered “yes” to what had not been a yes-or-no question, thus giving away how little attention he’d been paying. Ushijima opened his mouth to apologize, but before he could speak he felt a hand at his shoulder, and a familiar voice spoke from above him.

“It’s so sad that old men can’t tell when they’re unwanted,” Oikawa said, his voice breezy but with a nasty bite underneath. Ushijima blinked up at him. He had never heard Oikawa use that particular tone with anyone but him.

Idane stared up at Oikawa too, his face first shocked and then indignant. “I’m only twenty-four,” he said. “And you’re interrupting our conversation.”

“Oh, did you think you were having a conversation? Looked more to me like you were harassing my spiker. Can’t you see how bored he is, or do you just not care? Anyway, you’re sitting in my seat. Move along.” 

It was surreal to hear Oikawa utilize his blistering wit on an outsider like this. It was also surreal to feel the weight of Oikawa’s hand on his shoulder, his palm warm on Ushijima’s skin even through the layer of his shirt. Ushijima knew he should be annoyed that Oikawa was being rude on his behalf, proclaiming that Ushijima had been bored, but he was too relieved at Oikawa’s presence to care. It was probably the alcohol that made this event seem so significant, so vivid and exciting, but still, Ushijima felt like standing up and embracing Oikawa, he was so glad to see him.

Idane scowled, and looked back at Ushijima. “This party sucks. Should we take this somewhere more private?” His touch on Ushijima’s hand turned into a grip, his fingers closing around Ushijima’s wrist. Ushijima did not like that. 

“Let go of him.” Oikawa’s voice had gone sharp, like he was actually angry now. Ushijima pulled his hand back, and Idane let go easily, looking surprised. 

“Thank you for the offer, but I would like to talk to my teammate now,” Ushijima said, as politely as he could. He should apologize for Oikawa’s words, he knew, but he did not want to. He just wanted Idane to leave so that he could give Oikawa his undivided attention. Had Oikawa ever voluntarily sought out a conversation with Ushijima, before now? Ushijima couldn’t remember and was too drunk to sift through all his high school memories, but he suspected that this instance was unprecedented.

Idane rolled his eyes but stood, taking his drink with him. “Good luck in the tournament,” he said, pointedly directing his words solely at Ushijima without looking at Oikawa. Then he turned and walked away, and Oikawa’s hand remained on Ushijima’s shoulder for several seconds after Idane was gone.

Then Oikawa let go and stepped forward, sliding easily into the vacated chair. “How annoying! I can’t believe you, of all people, have an older suitor. I can’t imagine why he was interested. But still, I don’t think graduates should be invited to these kinds of parties, I’ll have to talk to the captain about it.”

Now that Oikawa was sitting in front of him, it was obvious that he was drunk, perhaps more drunk than Ushijima. His cheeks were red and his eyes flashed with annoyance as he scowled over at Idane, who was now talking to a group of people over by the DJ booth.

Oikawa always said so many words, and Ushijima often had difficulty deciding which words to respond to even when they were both sober. Right now it was especially troublesome. His hazy mind fixated on ‘suitor.’ “He was not a suitor. We were discussing my volleyball career.”

Oikawa gave him a strange look that Ushijima couldn’t read. “Told him about all those times you beat me in high school, did you? Whatever. Of course you can’t tell when someone is blatantly hitting on you. I’m not surprised. That makes some things from high school make a lot of sense, actually.” 

Ushijima wanted to ask Oikawa what on earth he was talking about, but before he could open his mouth again Oikawa pointed to his now-empty drink. “He bought you that, right? How many drinks have you had?”

“Yes,” Ushijima said. “And two.”

“You’ve got to catch up to me then. I’ve had three.” Oikawa shook his own empty glass so that the ice cubes clinked together, then turned this into a gesture at the waiter, beckoning him to the table. He touched two fingers, cold and wet from the condensation on his glass, to Ushijima’s knuckles. “What are you drinking?”

“Gin and tonic,” Ushijima said, distracted, staring at the hand that Oikawa had touched. It had been brief, his fingers there and then gone, and Oikawa was now leaning back in his chair, ordering a gin and tonic and a tequila sunrise from the waiter. 

“I put those on your tab, by the way,” Oikawa said when the waiter left. Ushijima could only nod. He had no idea why Oikawa was here, sitting at his table and ordering drinks as if they were friends, as if this was somehow normal, as if Oikawa hadn’t been breathtakingly rude to him just a few hours ago. He wanted to ask why, but he was terrified of breaking this spell. He had always yearned for a friendly relationship with Oikawa, and he wasn’t going to question this suddenly getting dropped in his lap.

“I like this song,” Oikawa said. Ushijima had not paid any attention to the music the whole time he was here, and when he focused on it now he realized that he knew this song, although he’d only heard it a couple of times. He couldn’t say he liked it. “It’s good for dancing. People should be dancing to it now, look at how empty that dance floor is, such a shame.”

“I don’t dance.” It was the only thing Ushijima could think of to say. 

“Of course you don’t.” Oikawa leaned forward, his chin on his hand and his head cocked, regarding Ushijima with a smile that seemed lazy, sly. Ushijima was reminded of a large cat, some predator in the wild, stretching and sunning itself. He blamed this image on the gin. “I wouldn’t want to see your dancing, anyway. You didn’t think I was asking you to dance with me, did you? Trust me, I could find a better partner.” 

“I know you could,” Ushijima said, because it was true. Oikawa was charming and attractive and probably everyone in this room would say yes if he asked them to dance. (Well, perhaps not Idane.) He could probably find a better conversation partner, too, yet for some reason he was sitting at this table with Ushijima. 

Ushijima found himself trying to imagine Oikawa dancing to a song he liked. He thought he might like to watch Oikawa dance, although not if he was dancing with someone else.

Oikawa raised an eyebrow, skeptical, as if he’d been surprised by Ushijima agreeing with him, or like he didn’t take the agreement at face value. He opened his mouth and leaned forward, but was interrupted by the arrival of their drinks.

Oikawa picked up his drink (which was orange in color, and looked very sweet) as soon as the waiter had left, sucking noisily through his straw. He drained what looked like a third of it in one long swallow. 

Ushijima sipped more conservatively on his own drink. He wanted to know what Oikawa had been about to say, before the waiter had come, but for once Oikawa was staying quiet. He was drinking (still using the tiny, useless decorative straw rather than drinking from the rim of the glass--Ushijima couldn’t help but stare at Oikawa’s lips toying with the straw, it was so distracting) and looking out at the rest of the party, his expression disinterested and drawn inward.

Ushijima didn’t know what to say to him. He didn’t want to bring up volleyball because he didn’t want Oikawa to be reminded that he’d been angry with Ushijima earlier. Alcohol was supposed to make talking to people easier, right? And Ushijima was plenty drunk by now, surely he could use that to his advantage.

“What other songs do you like?” Ushijima asked, thankfully after not too much silence had passed. Oikawa looked back at him, his expression perking up. He stopped mouthing at the straw to answer.

“I like songs that are good for dancing or working out. Big Bang is great, obviously, and Girls’ Generation and Perfume. American music can be fun too! Like Ke$ha.” Oikawa brought the drink to his lips again, but instead of drinking he stuck his tongue out, using it to play with his straw, the tip of his tongue pushing it to either side of the glass. He maintained eye contact with Ushijima while he did this. Ushijima was very glad that his cheeks had already been red before, thanks to the alcohol, so that he could not blush any harder now.

Oikawa stopped molesting his straw long enough to ask a question. “What music do you like, Ushiwaka-chan?” 

Ushijima shrugged. He didn’t care about music when he was working out--he preferred silence, but gym stereos always played generic pop songs, which was fine enough. He didn’t like music enough to seek it out in his free time, although now that he lived in Tokyo he’d discovered that having headphones in made being on the crowded subway more bearable. 

But Oikawa was starting to look disinterested again, his gaze sliding away from Ushijima and back to the crowd, so Ushijima said, “I listen to classical music sometimes. When I need to study.”

Oikawa snorted. “Somehow that is not at all surprising. You’re such an old man, I should have left you to it with that graduate, what’s a six-year age difference when your soul is thirty-five?”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Ushijima said. “Leave me with him, I mean.”

Oikawa blinked at him, then looked down at the table. He didn’t say anything for a few seconds, and Ushijima wondered if he was embarrassed. Why was it exciting, to think that Ushijima’s words could possibly be capable of embarrassing Oikawa? Ushijima took a long gulp from his own drink, hoping to drown out his confusing, overeager thoughts.

When he put his drink down, Oikawa was speaking again. “So classical music, huh? Why? Most people our age would never think to seek that out.”

Ushijima had read multiple articles on the benefits of classical music, on how it was supposedly beneficial for concentration and might even be able to help plants grow. He could explain these articles now, use them to answer Oikawa’s question. But instead he heard himself saying the truth. “My father was the one who first suggested it. I used to have more trouble with homework, back in junior high. He thought that it might help me concentrate for longer periods of time.”

Oikawa looked interested in this answer, leaning forward with both his elbows on the table. “Oh? And was he right? Did daddy know best?”

Ushijima frowned at the mocking undertone in Oikawa’s voice, and chose to ignore it. “Yes, it was a good suggestion and helped me improve my studying abilities. It still helps me, now.”

“What a model student you are. A model son, too.” The cutting arch of Oikawa’s eyebrow and the lift of his lips in a smirk made it clear that the compliments were not meant to be sincere. Ushijima crossed his arms over his chest, and regretted bringing up his father.

“Pouting is not a good look for you,” Oikawa said, and before Ushijima could respond he was gesturing for the waiter again. “Let’s do shots.”

“I don’t think that is a good idea.” Ushijima had never drank a shot in his life, and he did not think tonight was a good time to start, although at least tomorrow was supposed to be a rest day for everyone on the team. 

“Imagine how much fun you could have if you’d stop being so boring for just a few minutes,” Oikawa said, before ordering tequila shots from the waiter. “How about I buy this round, will that make you happy?”

“It’s only fair, seeing as you put the previous drinks on my tab,” Ushijima pointed out. It was the wrong thing to say, apparently, because Oikawa huffed out a loud sigh and rolled his eyes, and when he spoke his voice was a melodramatic whine. 

“So cold, so unfeeling! Why do I even try to be a good and generous teammate?” 

“Is that what this is?” The question was out of his mouth before Ushijima could think better of it, and he immediately wanted to take back the words, but Oikawa’s eyes had snapped to his attention immediately, so Ushijima continued. “You being a good and generous teammate?”

For a few seconds Oikawa just looked at him, unsmiling. Ushijima wondered if he would leave, and hoped that he wouldn’t. Then Oikawa laughed, and tipped back the rest of his drink, finishing it in one swallow. 

“ _This_ is a bad idea,” Oikawa said, as if that was any kind of answer to Ushijima’s question. “But I can’t leave yet, not before my shot. Ah, here we go!”

The waiter was back, placing two shots of gold liquor on the table. As he turned to go, Oikawa stopped him with a hand on his forearm (Ushijima stared at the point of contact). “Salt, too, and limes if you don’t mind.”

The waiter nodded and left, and Ushijima leaned forward to take his shot, but Oikawa batted his hand away. “Not yet! Don’t you know anything? We’re waiting for the salt and lime.”

“Why?” Ushijima said. He was starting to get tired, and he did not like that Oikawa seemed to think that just talking to him was a bad idea. The novelty of Oikawa initiating a conversation with him was wearing off, and the longer they spent sitting here the more Ushijima felt keenly that this was only a fraction of what he actually wanted from Oikawa. Sitting here and getting progressively drunker with Oikawa sitting only a couple feet away was swiftly turning into a form of self-torture, which Ushijima generally did not indulge in. He wanted to take this shot and then leave.

“Tequila is much better if you accessorize it,” Oikawa said, and Ushijima laughed, because it was a ridiculous thing to say about liquor. Oikawa smiled, like he was pleased to have made Ushijima laugh, and it was one of the few genuine expressions Ushijima had seen on his face all night.

The waiter returned with a salt shaker and two slices of lime, and Oikawa instructed Ushijima in their use. He could not help but stare, his heart racing, when Oikawa said, “See, like this,” and licked the back of his hand before sprinkling salt on the resulting wet spot.

He could feel Oikawa’s eyes on him as he licked his own hand. Oikawa was watching him, no doubt critically, to make sure Ushijima was doing it right. Ushijima did not think he was doing it right.

“All right. You’ve got your lime? You’ll want it after the shot, trust me.” Oikawa held his shot glass up, and Ushijima held up his own.

Oikawa leaned forward to clink their shot glasses together. “We should toast to something. What should we toast to? How about your father? To the elder Ushijima, thanks for the study tips,” Oikawa declared, then licked his hand and tossed back his shot in one fluid motion.

Ushijima was a few seconds behind, having been surprised by the toast to his father. He licked his hand and then gulped his own shot. The salt mingled with the tequila in a way that removed some of the bite, but it still burned horribly going down, and it seemed like that tiny shot glass had held an unfairly large amount of liquid. It took Ushijima forever to swallow it all, and he nearly gagged. 

“Now do the lime,” Oikawa instructed, his voice a little raspy after his shot. Ushijima sucked on his citrus slice and was surprised at how it lessened the burning and eased his gag reflex. It made the taste of the alcohol almost pleasant.

“There! Doesn’t that just put hair on your chest? Don’t you feel a little manlier now?” 

Ushijima could already feel how that shot had taken his inebriation level up several notches, and when he looked at Oikawa the rest of the room seemed to waver, becoming less real. Oikawa’s voice sounded lush, vibrant, and Ushijima knew that it was normal to forget things later when you got this drunk, but he hoped he would remember the way Oikawa was looking at him now. 

“I do. Do I look manlier, too?” Ushijima was pleased that all the alcohol he’d consumed was finally serving its advertised purpose, loosening his tongue and making words come easier. Across the table from him, Oikawa gawked a little bit.

“I’m not answering that! Your massive ego doesn’t need it,” Oikawa said, and abruptly stood up, making his chair clatter. At first Ushijima thought he was going to leave, and felt immediately more crestfallen than this warranted, but then Oikawa came around to Ushijima’s side of the table, holding his hand out.

“What was the line that old guy used on you? ‘Let’s take this somewhere more private’? Why don’t we do that.” 

Ushijima took Oikawa’s hand and let himself be pulled to his feet. He swayed a little once he was standing, and Oikawa stumbled a bit, too, still holding Ushijima’s hand. Ushijima was trying to make a connection, something about Oikawa referencing a ‘line’ and how that connected to his request that they leave this party. But he was drunk, and it was difficult, and he dropped the problem when Oikawa let go of his hand and turned around, walking towards the door.

Ushijima followed him out. He didn’t currently have the self-discipline to keep himself from staring at the broad line of Oikawa’s shoulders, his narrow waist, his ass. 

He was so busy staring, even after they left the stifling warmth of the party for the cool and quiet of the hallway, that he did not immediately realize what was happening when Oikawa turned around. He dragged his gaze up Oikawa’s body as Oikawa’s arms wound around his shoulders and neck. 

He had only half a moment to wonder how this could possibly be happening, and then Oikawa’s lips were on his. It was a very sloppy kiss. Oikawa’s lips were half on Ushijima’s chin before he corrected himself, pressing their mouths firmly and wetly together.

Ushijima’s hands fell to Oikawa’s waist. He kissed back without hesitation, and perhaps he was being overenthusiastic but Oikawa was matching him. Ushijima found that he did not mind Oikawa’s tongue in his mouth at all, even with how much Oikawa was moving it around, licking at the roof of Ushijima’s mouth and at his teeth. Ushijima was doing embarrassing things with his own tongue, too. 

This felt really amazing. It seemed like a lot, to go from not having kissed anyone to sucking on Oikawa’s bottom lip like this, and Ushijima wondered if it would feel as good if he wasn’t so drunk. But he was this drunk, and it did feel good. It felt like electricity coursing through his entire body. It felt like winning.

He was half-aware of moving them forward, stumbling over his own feet and over Oikawa’s, his momentum not stopping until Oikawa’s back hit the wall. And even then he pressed forward until they were chest-to-chest, his whole body flush against Oikawa’s. 

Standing like this, it was impossible not to notice Oikawa’s erection hard against his leg, and of course Ushijima was well aware of his own erection too. He felt very focused on continuing to kiss Oikawa, and it was difficult to drag his mind away from that one ultimate goal, but still, he could not fully keep out the very rational, very insistent thought that they should really stop before this got out-of-hand.

As if he had read Ushijima’s mind, Oikawa paused, pulling back. He nuzzled Ushijima’s cheek, panting in his ear, and then spoke, his voice a husky murmur that made Ushijima’s erection much worse.

“Remember what I told you earlier? When I told you to go suck a dick?” It was the first time either of them had mentioned the earlier fight. Ushijima’s surprise came out in the form of a groan, and then he bit his lip hard to cut himself off, because Oikawa had just reached down to Ushijima’s crotch and squeezed him, hard.

“I’d let you do that to me right now,” Oikawa said. “You want to?”

Ushijima could not think. Oikawa’s hand on him utterly dominated his awareness, and it was actually more painful than arousing, because Oikawa was squeezing hard in a slightly wrong way. What was more arousing than his touch were the words Oikawa had said, their intimate tone, and then of course that vulgar suggestion.

Ushijima could imagine it quite clearly. He was normally a very careful person, but he would have no trouble dropping to his knees right here in this hallway, where anyone could see. He would have no trouble pushing Oikawa’s pants down and taking him in his mouth. He wanted to, badly, more badly than he’d wanted anything in a very long time. 

But it was impossible to ignore how drunk he was, and Oikawa was more drunk than that. Ushijima didn’t think that Oikawa had lost complete control of his faculties, but he didn’t know if Oikawa would be asking him to do this (or would be grabbing his crotch, Ushijima could scarcely believe Oikawa was willingly touching him there) if he were sober.

Ushijima cared deeply for Oikawa. He couldn’t bear the thought that they might have sex and it would become something for Oikawa to regret the next morning. 

It took a great deal of effort to lean back so that they were no longer cheek-to-cheek. And to reach down and take Oikawa’s wrist, removing his hand from Ushijima’s crotch and holding their palms together instead.

Now that there were a few inches between their faces, Ushijima could see Oikawa blink several times, startled, and he pulled his hand back from Ushijima. Ushijima already longed to return to a few seconds ago, when Oikawa’s tongue had been in his mouth, but he knew that moment was already long gone.

“I don’t think so,” Ushijima said, his voice slow, almost slurred. Later he would kick himself for his phrasing, for how he might have come off as cold, uncaring, when he was only trying to act more sober than he felt. 

Oikawa’s expression soured immediately, and he straightened instead of slouching against the wall. He opened his mouth, and Ushijima knew something bad was coming, even as he hoped desperately that it wouldn’t.

“Fuck off, then,” was all Oikawa said. He pushed past Ushijima, not gently, and walked down the hallway in the direction of the elevator. Ushijima watched him go. He swayed slightly before turning the corner, and then he was gone.

***

Ushijima felt terrible immediately upon waking. He was disoriented, and as soon as he moved--only to sit up, barely any movement at all--his stomach rolled. He made it to the toilet, but only just. 

As he retched, he realized how dark it was in his room. It must still be very early. Ushijima was a deep sleeper and usually had no problems with insomnia, and he had not arrived home last night until close to 1am, so it was strange that he was awake again, that he had not slept for at least eight hours as he usually did without an alarm. It must have been the alcohol. 

Ushijima threw up twice, then slumped against the wall of his bathroom, weak and shaky. He felt a little bit better than he had before the puking. Except, no: now that the nausea was somewhat gone, a headache was demanding his attention. He squeezed his eyes shut and felt droplets of sweat sliding down his temples. His mouth was burning from the taste of his own stomach acid. He couldn’t stop remembering Oikawa’s last words to him.

Ushijima curled up on the floor of the bathroom. He didn’t really fit: his feet stuck out into his bedroom, and the top of his head met the edge of the bathtub. He was annoyed with himself, because this was unnecessarily melodramatic and inconvenient--his bed was only a few feet away, and even though he felt like he would die if forced to move, he knew that if he put his mind to it he could make it over there.

But the floor tiles were cool against his face, and Ushijima was discovering a new side of himself that seemed to find it acceptable to wallow in self-pity, and thus found this position satisfying. He made no move to get up. Even with the fluorescent light on overhead, he eventually drifted to sleep.

When he woke up, his physical condition was slightly improved. The headache had retreated, and his stomach still felt bad but the nausea lacked any urgency. Ushijima got to his feet from the bathroom floor, embarrassed and deeply relieved that his roommate was out of town this weekend, that no one had been here to witness this.

He brushed his teeth and turned off the bathroom light as he went back to his bed. His phone was blinking with a notification. Ushijima hadn’t plugged it in when he’d arrived home last night, had been too drunk to think to do this, and he was surprised the battery was still alive.

The notification was a snapchat from Oikawa. Ushijima stared. He was having trouble breathing. He couldn’t believe that Oikawa had contacted him, and he was terrified, but more than that he was hopeful, he was hoping so hard that all thoughts of his hangover left his mind completely.

But when he opened the snap, it was immediately clear that Oikawa was not the one contacting him. The snap was an image of Oikawa, or rather the back of Oikawa’s head, as his face was submerged in his toilet. The caption read _he said this is your fault?!_ , coupled with a scribbled frowny face that looked furious, and this picture was obviously taken by Iwaizumi.

Ushijima didn’t reply to the snap (he only had this app on his phone because the rest of his team did, and he never bothered to open most of what he received). Instead he texted Iwaizumi. _That is a lie. I only bought him one of his many drinks. What else did he say about me?_

Ushijima waited, but the reply didn’t come, and he started to feel antsy. He plugged his phone in and hunted down some advil, taking the pills with a large glass of water. Then he lay back down, still exhausted. Probably going back to sleep would not be wise--he did not want to sleep the whole day away. Maybe he should get some exercise, nothing strenuous, just enough to remind his body of how it functioned normally. And he was not usually a coffee drinker, but perhaps he should have some today. 

His phone vibrated. It was a text from Oikawa, not Iwaizumi. _stop fishing for information from iwa-chan!!! he’s a good friend and roommate and won’t tell you anything_

Ushijima could feel his headache trying to return. He really should have expected that Iwaizumi would rat him out. He should abandon this whole miserable situation and go for a run.

The next reply buzzed before Ushijima could decide on the run. _but since you asked, i’ll tell you what i’ve been saying about you. I don’t remember this, but iwa-chan says that when i arrived home last night, i was ranting about that awful old man who was hitting on you. then i said that i liked your tongue, and that i was going to beat you at volleyball, and then i passed out on the floor. mean iwa-chan let me sleep there all night instead of tucking me into bed. I hope you’re laughing at this, someone should get entertainment out of it at least._

Ushijima was laughing, at least a bit. He could picture Oikawa drunkenly declaring that he was going to beat Ushijima, even though they were on the same team now, and it was funny to find that Oikawa was as verbose over text as he was in person. Also, hearing that Oikawa liked his tongue, even if that was just something he’d said while drunk, made Ushijima feel warm all over.

_then this morning, i told iwa-chan it was your fault i was so sick. he is smart enough not to believe this, but he texted you about it anyway because he cares about my virtue. i didn’t tell him about all that kissing we did. i didn’t want him to yell at me for making bad decisions._

And just like that, the warm feeling was gone. Ushijima had been trying to avoid becoming a bad decision, and realizing that he’d failed was a huge disappointment. He started composing a reply, some kind of formal apology along with a promise that it would never happen again, but before he could hit send he got another long text from Oikawa.

_you know all about my worthless pride, so you can probably imagine how much i hate apologizing, especially to you. but still, even i can recognize when i’ve behaved so horribly. i never should have propositioned you like that, and i especially should not have grabbed you like i did without your express permission. i’m very sorry._

Ushijima was certain that this was the first time either of them had ever apologized to the other. He felt slightly like he was out of his body, like he was an outsider watching himself stare down at the cell phone in his hand. The words swam in his vision.

He needed to respond, and he needed to do it quickly, so that Oikawa did not think he didn’t care. Ushijima typed out the first words that came to mind, which were, _Thank you. I appreciate the apology._

He hit send, and then realized it was not enough. He added, _We were both very drunk last night, and I don’t blame you for anything. You don’t need to worry about the proposition._ He typed out, _I only said no because we were both drunk,_ but he was too cowardly to actually send that part, so he deleted it and just sent the rest.

He was very glad to hear Oikawa apologize, even if the crotch-grabbing wasn’t the part that had been hurtful, had in fact been welcome in and of itself. It was just a relief to experience Oikawa being decent to him, to finally feel like he was getting to see the Oikawa that inspired such loyalty in people. 

It was such a relief that Ushijima was reluctant to keep discussing the issue. But Oikawa had been honest with him, really a lot more honest than he’d had to be, and it made Ushijima want to be honest with him in return. So without waiting for a reply, Ushijima texted, _But I was taken aback when you told me to fuck off after I said no._

He waited with his breath held, then forced himself to breathe when that became uncomfortable. It was risky, sending that text. It was perhaps stirring the waters unnecessarily, after Oikawa had graciously extended him an olive branch. Ushijima was being foolish and greedy, was hoping for too much, when he ought to be satisfied with Oikawa simply treating Ushijima like a person (maybe even a friend) who deserved a basic apology after experiencing rude behavior.

Finally his phone vibrated with Oikawa’s response. _oh, that. i was hoping you’d forgotten that part! i’m not proud. i usually handle it much better when someone rejects me._

It was obvious that Oikawa was not finished, that another reply would be forthcoming, but Ushijima didn’t wait for it before hurriedly typing out what he felt like he had to say immediately. He couldn’t let Oikawa sit there with this wrong idea he’d gotten for one more second. He was in so much of a hurry that he didn’t bother to fix his typoes or add punctuation. _I didn’t meanto reject you adn I wouldn’t have if we were sober_

His phone was silent after that, ominously. Ushijima groaned loud and fell back onto his mattress, rubbing his hands over his face. He felt like he was a character in a bad melodrama. It felt _awful._

His phone buzzed again before he could berate himself further. _good to know!_

Ushijima considered throwing his phone across the room. Before he could, another text came. _anyway though, i’m sorry for telling you to fuck off. even I’M not that bad. i’m really really really sorry! i would like to make it up to you. are you free for dinner tonight? that is, if both of us are feeling less hungover by then._

Ushijima dropped his phone on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. He picked up his phone again, verified that this last text was still there and he hadn’t hallucinated anything, then dropped it again. When he picked it up a third time, his fingers shook slightly. Adrenaline, he figured. 

_I’d like that._

***

Ushijima arrived at the chosen restaurant on time, but Oikawa still beat him there. He was leaning against the wall outside the door, looking off to the distance, headphones in his ears. He turned when Ushijima walked up to him, tugging the headphones out of his ears and giving Ushijima one of those cheery, cheesy smiles he used to give his fan club members in high school.

“There you are! You look rough, although I suppose given how last night went, you could be looking worse. I know you don’t drink much, was this morning your first hangover? Did you treat it correctly, with a greasy breakfast and a hot shower? Oh dear, you didn’t try to play volleyball with a hangover, did you? I doubt _that_ went well.”

Ushijima was thrown. He hadn’t expected Oikawa to mention last night right off the bat. He’d half-thought that Oikawa would want to pretend last night had never happened. But Oikawa was meeting his eyes calmly now, waiting for an answer.

“I didn’t play volleyball today,” Ushijima said. “I went for a walk. That was it.”

Oikawa nodded. “Good. It’s important not to work too hard when you’re hungover. Even I know that.” 

From up close, Ushijima noticed that Oikawa looked a little rough, too, although he was not going to point this out. There were slight shadows under his eyes, and it looked like his hair was less styled than usual. But he still looked nice, in dark skinny jeans and a green button-down. He was also wearing a blue and yellow checkered scarf, which ought to have clashed with the green shirt, but Ushijima thought he pulled it off.

The first time Ushijima had seen Oikawa wearing normal clothes instead of his seijoh uniform, he had jerked off to the image later that night. This hadn't been intentional. The image had just stuck around in his mind all day, and when it had been time to take care of himself as he usually did before going to sleep, Oikawa in jeans and a t-shirt was still at the forefront of his thoughts. Ushijima hadn't even really needed to imagine the clothes coming off (although he had, in detail) to reach his orgasm. 

As he followed Oikawa into the restaurant, Ushijima reflected on how unbelievable it seemed that he'd kissed someone who had been starring in his personal fantasies for years. Going on a date with that person stretched credulity even further. And yet, here they were.

This udon restaurant was not upscale, to Ushijima’s relief. He was nervous enough just meeting Oikawa for dinner, and it was better that he wouldn’t also have to worry about someone waiting on them. Instead they waited in line at a counter, watched the cooks preparing the udon behind the glass, and paid at the end, taking their food to the table themselves. 

If Ushijima tried hard, he could almost pretend that this was just another post-practice dinner out with a teammate, that his main purpose here was to refuel a body starved from exertion while he half-listened to whatever exhausted banter and horseplay might be going on around him. But he hadn’t exercised hard today and wasn’t that hungry, and there was nothing here that could possibly distract him from Oikawa’s dazzling presence.

His stomach felt jumpy and jittery, which he knew had nothing to do with any lingering effects of his hangover. He found himself paused with his chopsticks halfway to his mouth, watching Oikawa eat.

“It’s rude to stare,” Oikawa said, without looking up from his udon. “Is there something wrong with my meal? Are you going to tell me that I ‘chose the wrong path’ with this shrimp, and I should have ordered the pork instead?”

Ushijima’s cheeks burned. He muttered an apology and tried to focus on his own food, embarrassed that Oikawa would throw his own words back at him in such a ridiculous context. But of course Oikawa would: Oikawa lived to embarrass and humiliate him, and it had been foolish to think that one drunken night together would have changed that. 

Oikawa sighed, the noise so soft and quiet that Ushijima almost missed it. “You have to learn to just tune me out, you know. Without Iwa-chan here to keep me in line, there’s no telling what might come out of my mouth. Best not to take any of it too seriously.”

It was close to being another apology, the third one Oikawa had given him today. Instead of feeling pleased, Ushijima felt a distinct sense of whiplash. He set his chopsticks down after a few half-hearted bites, leaned back in his chair and gave in to the urge to rub his forehead.

Across from him, Oikawa’s chopsticks paused, and Ushijima felt himself being studied. He kept his eyes closed for several seconds, his fingers at his temples. It was difficult to put together what he wanted to say, difficult to cut through his confusion and frustration and get to the heart of the matter.

“We fought yesterday,” Ushijima said, looking up to meet Oikawa’s eyes. “Before the party. You seemed so angry, you cut short our practice. But then--” Here Ushijima hesitated, not sure if he wanted to be the first to bring up what had happened last night, not sure if he could say out loud ‘you kissed me.’ But Oikawa was putting his chopsticks down, a serious expression on his face, so Ushijima had to keep going. 

“You didn’t seem angry during the party,” Ushijima finished. He didn’t say more, didn’t bring up any of the other disagreements they’d had over the years, didn’t ask if it was possible that Oikawa had mysteriously forgiven him for everything. He knew it wasn’t possible.

“Well I was trashed at the party, of course,” Oikawa said, giving the immediate flippant answer that Ushijima had expected but hoped not to hear. But then he made a face and crossed his arms over his chest, staring down at the table and staying quiet for a few moments. When he spoke again, his voice was serious and turned inward, more like he was speaking to himself than to Ushijima.

“I let you piss me off so easily. It’s been that way for as long as we’ve played against each other,” Oikawa said. “I guess I surprised myself last night with how easy it was to just… bury the hatchet and interact with you like we were friends. I always thought I’d be too proud for that.” Oikawa looked up now, fixing Ushijima with one of his brilliant smiles, though it was hard at the edges. “It helped that you somehow managed to avoid saying anything condescending or disrespectful to me for a whole evening. If you can repeat that trick tonight, maybe we could really get somewhere.”

Ushijima deliberately did not think about what Oikawa might mean by ‘get somewhere.’ “It has never been my intention to be condescending or disrespectful towards you. Even when we were opponents in high school, I always admired you.”

Now those words were out and they couldn’t be taken back. Ushijima’s heart was beating harder than a dinner conversation warranted. He fought the urge to clench his hand into a fist or cross his legs, he tried to be still and wait for Oikawa’s response. 

Oikawa’s eyes glittered. “You admired my setter skills, I knew that already. You wanted me to come to your school and toss for you.”

“No. I mean, yes, I wanted those things. But more than that.” Ushijima stumbled over his words, his longing to be understood making him hurried. He stopped and took a breath, trying to center himself. After years of screwing it up almost every time he spoke to Oikawa, it was important to say this right. It was more important than almost any game he could remember playing. 

“I’ve always been drawn to you. I wanted you to come to Shiratorizawa because I wanted to be your teammate and your friend.”

Oikawa’s eyes widened just a fraction before he looked away, his expression unreadable. Ushijima couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this anxious. He felt naked, and Oikawa was giving him nothing.

“Your friend? Just your friend?”

The sly undertone to Oikawa’s voice, the emphasis he placed on ‘just’--it was obvious what he was implying. Ushijima realized, with a sudden clarity that almost seemed to come from outside himself, that Oikawa wanted Ushijima to give him everything before he made any declarations of his own. He wanted confirmation that Ushijima was his before deciding whether or not to reciprocate. 

Ushijima had already informed Oikawa this morning that he would have taken him up on his sexual proposition had the circumstances been different, so he felt no need to repeat the obvious fact of his attraction. And although a large part of him wanted to surrender completely to Oikawa, he found himself resistant to do so with Oikawa sitting across from him like this, utterly cool and composed, like he could get up and leave at any moment and not look back.

If Ushijima were to surrender to Oikawa, he wanted to do it when there could be no doubt that Oikawa would catch him on the fall.

And besides, he had questions of his own. Ushijima picked up his chopsticks and took a bite of his udon, sensing Oikawa's irritation as he chewed and swallowed. 

“That depends,” he said when he was finished. “Why did you interrupt my conversation with that college graduate last night?”

Oikawa's mouth dropped open, just slightly, before he recovered, lifting his chin. “Does it matter?”

“Apparently he made you so angry that you were ranting about it to Iwaizumi when you got home last night.”

Oikawa scowled. For a second Ushijima worried that he'd goaded him too much, and that he would leave. But all he did was toy with one of his chopsticks, pushing half-heartedly at a noodle.

“I was sympathetic because you looked so miserable talking to him,” Oikawa said. “Only I'm allowed to make you miserable.”

“Only you? That sounds possessive.”

To Ushijima’s surprise, Oikawa blushed and glared at Ushijima, pointing a chopstick at him in accusation. “Don’t make it sound like some romantic thing! I've just spent so many years trying to defeat you, that's all.”

“So your anger with Idane had nothing to do with you calling him my ‘suitor.’”

Oikawa's scowl deepened. “Oh, is his name Idane? Did he also give you his number before I so rudely interrupted? Why don't you go have dinner with him instead.” Oikawa moved to stand, but Ushijima caught his wrist. He felt a little bad for provoking Oikawa; perhaps he should have known that Oikawa would not react well to being pinned in a corner and confronted with his own actions.

“I have no desire to have dinner with him or with anyone else,” Ushijima said. He held eye contact for several beats before letting go of Oikawa's wrist and sitting back. 

Oikawa regarded him with narrowed eyes. Ushijima waited for him to speak, to either try to deflect again or to tease Ushijima or to change the subject entirely. But he just sat there, silent and wary.

Perhaps there was nothing more that needed to be said. Oikawa had given Ushijima an answer as to his feelings, in a roundabout, biting sort of way which was very much like him. Ushijima was satisfied with that for now. 

He felt curiously light, as if he were suspended in water or floating through space. When he picked up his chopsticks and resumed eating, Oikawa remarked, “You're smiling.”

“Yes,” Ushijima said. “Are you not going to eat?”

“Are you my mother now?” But Oikawa bent over his meal to eat, and the minutes passed in silence, and the smile kept returning to Ushijima’s mouth. He did not try to fight it.

***

They didn't linger in the restaurant after the end of the meal. Almost as soon as Ushijima had emptied his bowl, he heard the scrape of Oikawa's chair moving back as he stood.

“Best not to stay out too late! We have class tomorrow morning, after all.” 

Ushijima stood to follow Oikawa out of the restaurant. There was a bounce to Oikawa’s steps, and Ushijima was afraid to hope, afraid to ask what came next. He didn’t want to presume, but he knew exactly how he wanted this evening to end.

When Oikawa turned to him, his mouth open to say something, Ushijima spoke before he could. “My roommate is out of town this weekend.”

Oikawa raised an eyebrow. Ushijima did his best to meet his stare evenly, without getting flustered and hedging his statement. 

“What an odd non-sequitur! Have I said anything to make you think I care about your roommate? How is that relevant to our conversation? You’re so weird, Ushiwaka-chan.”

Before Ushijima could get too annoyed, Oikawa stepped forward and hooked his elbow through the crook of Ushijima’s arm, so that they were walking together, linked. “I asked Iwa-chan if he wouldn’t mind spending the night at a friend’s place, and he told me ‘get stuffed Shittykawa, your ridiculous love life isn’t my problem and I have to study for an important test tomorrow.’” 

Ushijima watched the movement of Oikawa’s long fingers, making quotation marks in the air as he imitated Iwaizumi’s voice. He bit the inside of his cheek against a smile that would have been too wide. It was delightful to hear Oikawa say ‘love life’ in reference to Ushijima.

“Anyway, your dorm is also closer, right? So obviously that's the best option, all things considered.” 

Ushijima quickened his pace, and Oikawa matched his long strides. He felt hyper-aware of Oikawa’s arm in his, the occasional bump of their shoulders, the sound of their footfalls on the pavement. His anticipation was so thick on his tongue that he thought it must be visible from the outside, affecting his appearance, warping the air around them both.

With Oikawa beside him like this, Ushijima could finally believe that this was happening. His sense of reality had bent and bowed enough to make room for this new shape, and he had never felt more present for anything in his life. 

It was thankfully not a long walk to Ushijima’s dorm. Oikawa didn't release his elbow until they were at the front door, and Ushijima could sense him at his back as they ascended the two flights of stairs to his room.

When Ushijima invited Oikawa in and closed the door behind him, he was surprised to hear Oikawa laugh. Oikawa kept laughing as they both took their shoes off, and his shoulders still shook as he slipped his feet into the pair of house slippers Ushijima gave him. 

“What's so funny?” Ushijima asked, reluctantly. He hoped that Oikawa was not laughing at him, at Ushijima’s hopes for this and how foolish they might seem.

Oikawa shook his head, laugh lines still lingering on his face. “When I woke up this morning, I was so mortified that I didn't know if I'd be able to ever look you in the eye again. But here we are.”

“Here we are,” Ushijima agreed. He wanted to kiss Oikawa so badly. He hadn't yet turned on the light, so Oikawa looked up at him now with a face covered in shadows, dark and twilight-blue and soft. 

Ushijima stepped forward until only a few inches separated their faces. The air seemed very still. Then Oikawa moved his hand, those beautiful fingers settling lightly on Ushijima’s chest. Ushijima ducked his head and Oikawa met him halfway, the press of his lips as soft and careful as they'd been hard and wild last night.

Last night had been enjoyable, but this was better. Oikawa kissed him again and again, soft kisses that didn't deepen, and he sighed softly when Ushijima touched his hair, held him in place. 

When Oikawa finally did slip his tongue into Ushijima's mouth, Ushijima wrapped his unoccupied arm around Oikawa's waist, pulling him in tight against him. Oikawa wrapped his arms around Ushijima's back, holding him close, and Ushijima thought about the strength in those arms, the toned muscles of Oikawa's back and thighs that Ushijima had been desperately trying not to sneak looks at ever since they'd begun to share a locker room this year. Maybe he could look at them tonight. Maybe he could persuade Oikawa to lie naked on Ushijima's bed and let Ushijima look his fill.

But there was something else he wanted to do first. Just as he had done last night, Ushijima walked them forward until Oikawa's back was against the wall. Then he broke the kiss, stepping back and dropping to his knees.

Ushijima was now eye-level with the fly of Oikawa's pants, which was an exciting place to be. When he glanced up, he could see Oikawa staring down at him with eyes so wide that white was visible around his irises, and that was gratifying, too.

But when Ushijima undid the button of Oikawa's pants, Oikawa stopped him, his hand clasping Ushijima's fingers. When Ushijima looked up again, Oikawa sighed.

“Ushijima… I was being a real asshole last night when I asked you to--you know.” His other hand was on Ushijima's head, carding through his hair. “You don't have to do this.”

Ushijima felt flooded with affection. He didn't know why. It was often a mystery, why Oikawa elicited these responses in him. He leaned into Oikawa's hand in his hair.

“Thank you. But I want to.”

“You want--?” Oikawa sucked in a noisy breath, and didn't try to stop Ushijima again when he pulled down the zipper and tugged Oikawa's pants down past his hips.

Oikawa was wearing gray briefs. Ushijima dug his fingers into the band but then hesitated, waiting to see if Oikawa might object again. Oikawa still had a hand in his hair, and his fingers tightened, his thumb brushed against Ushijima's forehead.

Ushijima pulled the briefs down, his knuckles dragging against the soft skin of Oikawa's hips. Oikawa was half-hard, and pleasingly proportioned, long and thick but not to a degree that might have been intimidating. Ushijima hesitated, then touched his dick, wrapping his fingers loosely around the base.

“Oh god,” Oikawa said. He said it again when Ushijima pressed his mouth to the tip, a kiss that turned wet when he couldn't resist licking. He liked Oikawa's taste and the smell, too. He licked at the base, licked a line up the vein on the underside, licked the head again.

Oikawa's dick was fully hard now. Ushijima fit the head in his mouth, and it felt a little strange, a little too large, but in a good way somehow. Ushijima thought about the stretch he felt in his lips and thought about keeping it in his mouth until it became too much, until his jaw ached. He thought about taking more of Oikawa’s dick into his mouth until he gagged, and how strangely pleasant it was to think about such objectively unpleasant sensations.

Ushijima slid his mouth down, which was a little trickier than he thought it would be, considering that Oikawa’s dick wasn’t slick with spit yet. He used his tongue as much as he could, getting it wetter, and felt Oikawa’s fingers tighten in his hair. Ushijima had always thought that he might like Oikawa clutching his hair and holding his head down while he did this, and it was even better than he’d hoped. He was so hard himself, and he hadn’t even been touched.

The taste changed slightly, got a little saltier, as pre-come made Oikawa’s dick become more slippery between Ushijima’s lips. Ushijima moved his mouth up and down the way he’d seen porn stars do it on the very rare occasions he’d watched porn. It seemed to be working--Oikawa was loud above him, making noise with almost every breath. Ushijima wished he could record those noises, in case this never happened again. He didn’t want to let Oikawa’s gasps and moans fade from his mind. 

Ushijima lost track of time. His jaw did start to ache, eventually, but he felt absolutely no desire to stop. But shortly after that Oikawa’s hand tugged on his hair, so Ushijima pulled off and looked up.

“I’m getting close,” Oikawa panted. He reached down to wrap a hand around his dick, his fingers fitting over Ushijima’s. “You can stop--I’ll just--”

“I don’t want to stop,” Ushijima said without thinking. He heard Oikawa’s teeth click together as he clenched his jaw, and his hand moved on his dick, squeezing himself.

“I’m serious,” Oikawa said, voice strained, his hips canting towards Ushijima’s face. His dick was red and so wet and Ushijima really, really didn’t want to stop. “Do you want me to come in your mouth?”

This made Ushijima hesitate, considering. He wasn’t sure he wanted that, or at least not yet. He’d tasted his own come and didn’t like the taste much. He was curious about what Oikawa’s might taste like, but maybe not tonight.

However, he didn’t want to stand up and just let Oikawa finish into his own hand. He wanted to stay involved. He tightened his own fingers where they were still wrapped around the base of Oikawa’s dick, and Oikawa moaned, so loud and so close.

“You can come on my face,” Ushijima said. Oikawa’s moan cut off abruptly with a sort of choking sound.

“Are you _fucking_ kidding?” Oikawa said, and his fingers were tight in Ushijima’s hair again, painful, welcome. “If you’re not sure--tell me now--”

“I’m sure,” Ushijima said, his own words more of a gasp than anything else, lacking control. He wanted to point out that he rarely said or did anything without being sure of it beforehand, and he wasn’t about to start now, but it was unnecessary to point this out, and anyway it was a strange thing for his mind to fixate on, considering that the hand in his hair was jerking his face forward.

Oikawa really was close. Everything happened quickly: Ushijima felt the tip of Oikawa’s dick push against his cheek, Oikawa’s hand stroked his dick rough and fast a couple of times, and then he came. Ushijima felt it hit his cheek in wet spurts, and he groaned, couldn’t stop himself (didn’t try) from reaching down to press the heel of his hand against his own dick, painfully hard in his pants. 

Then it was over, though Oikawa’s hand still held his hair tight, and the head of his dick still dragged down Ushijima’s cheek. Ushijima blinked hard, then thought that it was good none of it had gotten in his eyelashes. He bit his lip to prevent himself from laughing, giddy.

“Oh,” Oikawa said, as his fingers loosened and he dropped his hand from Ushijima’s head, as he slumped back against the wall. “Oh, fuck. Oh god. Fuck.” Each breath he took sounded so loud, huge and exhausted in the silence of the dark room. Ushijima thought dizzily, _I did that._

Ushijima stood, vaguely registering pain in his knees from kneeling for so long. Oikawa stared at him with comically wide eyes, and it finally occurred to Ushijima to wonder what he must look like. He didn’t really care, but Oikawa looked thunderstruck, shaken. 

The come on his cheek was starting to feel cold and slimy, so Ushijima rubbed it off with the hem of his shirt. As soon as he was finished, Oikawa touched him there, his thumb rubbing over Ushijima’s cheekbone. Ushijima looked up, startled.

“You’re amazing,” Oikawa said breathlessly. Ushijima’s heart stopped, then started again, then soared. Oikawa was pulling him in, his hands cupping Ushijima’s face, kissing him over and over.

“Don’t take anything I say during sex to heart,” Oikawa said when they came up for air. “Everyone says ridiculous things they don’t mean in the heat of the moment.”

“Right, everyone,” Ushijima echoed, too distracted by Oikawa’s thigh rubbing against his dick to pay attention to the words coming out of his mouth. But Oikawa laughed, then shoved lightly at Ushijima’s shoulder, playful.

“Ugh, I can see your head swelling up already. You’re so insufferable, Ushiwaka-chan.” Oikawa undercut his own words by reaching down to squeeze Ushijima’s ass. Ushijima squirmed, feeling more urgently now than before that he wanted to get these pants off.

“Do you have a bed somewhere or not?” Oikawa said, murmuring into Ushijima’s ear before biting his earlobe. “Some of us might like that, as nice as this wall is.”

“Uh, sure,” Ushijima said. Truthfully, he’d forgotten that they were in his room and that his bed was even an option. He reluctantly stepped away from Oikawa, suddenly fearing--hopefully irrationally--that Oikawa would disappear out the door as soon as they stopped kissing. But when Ushijima turned to head towards his bed, Oikawa grabbed his hand and squeezed, and followed.

As soon as they were close to the bed, Oikawa took Ushijima by surprise, shoving him hard. Ushijima stumbled and fell back, his ass hitting the mattress, and Oikawa was on him immediately, straddling his waist and pushing his shoulders down. Ushijima offered no resistance. 

Oikawa looked down at him from above, his hair falling around his face, gorgeous and lit up. “Look at you,” Oikawa said. “ _Look_ at you.” He punctuated his words with his hips, grinding hard against Ushijima, and Ushijima closed his eyes and gave in to it.

Oikawa was still talking, even as he continued to move his hips. “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” he said, leaning down to speak into Ushijima’s neck. “But I would _love_ to suck your dick. You want me to?”

Words failed Ushijima. The only sound he could make was something like a moan, high and shaky and broken-off. He clenched his hands into fists in the bedsheets, and the small part of his mind not currently consumed by arousal noted that it was sweet that Oikawa had asked first, as compared to his behavior last night.

Oikawa laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, incredibly smug. Ushijima didn’t mind; Oikawa could be as smug as he liked. 

Oikawa pressed a sloppy kiss to Ushijima’s throat, then moved down, nudging Ushijima’s legs apart so that he could settle between them. Ushijima looked up at the ceiling and wondered if it was possible that his heart could be beating fast enough to explode. Oikawa Tooru was about to give him a blowjob, so anything seemed possible.

Oikawa got his pants and briefs down quickly, and then Oikawa was doing it, the first wet touch of his mouth a wonderful shock. Ushijima made a noise that was alarmingly close to a yell, and he really couldn’t do that, he lived in a dormitory and didn’t want to give his neighbors ideas, but he’d never had a harder time controlling himself. He brought his fist to his mouth and bit down hard on a knuckle as Oikawa swirled his tongue over the head of his dick, obscene.

Ushijima learned quickly that Oikawa was capable of taking a dick very far down his throat without gagging. It was impressive, or rather Ushijima would have been impressed if he weren’t focused on trying not to come right away. He wanted to enjoy this, wanted to last, but he was so close to the edge and Oikawa’s mouth and tongue and throat were bliss.

Oikawa pulled off suddenly. “You’re not even looking at me,” he complained, in a voice so petulant and so like him that he could have been talking about anything, could have been talking about volleyball. “And I’m putting on such a show, too.”

Ushijima wanted to see what Oikawa looked like. He’d just been too overcome to think of this. He took his fist out of his mouth and pushed himself up on his elbows, looking down to see Oikawa smirking up at him, half his face obscured by the fall of his hair. He licked his lips when Ushijima met his eyes.

Then he licked Ushijima’s dick. Ushijima’s hips jerked, a motion that was entirely involuntary. Oikawa’s smirk widened and as Ushijima watched, transfixed, Oikawa rubbed his lips against the head of Ushijima’s dick, nuzzling it, kissing it. It left a shiny trail of spit and pre-come on his cheek.

“I just want you to appreciate this,” Oikawa said. “It’s not like I do this every day, you know.”

Oikawa could have told Ushijima that he _did_ suck cock every day, and Ushijima would have believed him. He seemed that comfortable with it. Ushijima could only stare down, mesmerized. All the blood in his body seemed to be pounding in his groin. 

“I do,” he said, and he’d never heard his own voice sound that shaky. “Appreciate it.”

Oikawa’s smile widened, and he licked Ushijima’s dick again. “Good.” And then he was going back down, and even with the view somewhat obscured by the fall of Oikawa’s hair, the sight of Oikawa’s lips wrapped around Ushijima’s dick as his head bobbed was the most fantastically lurid thing Ushijima had ever seen.

Ushijima didn’t last much longer after that. All the half-formed thoughts in his head became one flat glowing line, carrying him over the edge. He barely had the presence of mind to grab Oikawa’s hair, saying, “Oikawa, I--I’m going to--”

“Oh, I know,” Oikawa said, and then his mouth was back on Ushijima’s dick. Ushijima’s whole body blazed. He tugged on Oikawa’s hair again, a useless gesture that did not cause Oikawa to lift his head even slightly, and then he came. 

Oikawa sucked him through it, letting Ushijima helplessly push his dick into Oikawa’s mouth as he rode out the orgasm. Oikawa didn’t pull off until Ushijima was spent, and then he swallowed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Ushijima wanted to say something, wanted to tell Oikawa he was amazing just as Oikawa had told him, but it was hard enough just to breathe. He felt as spent as if he’d just finished playing three sets. Oikawa crawled back up the bed to sprawl beside him, and Ushijima reached out blindly until he felt Oikawa’s fingers meet his.

They were both still wearing their shirts, and they each had their pants mostly still on. Ushijima laughed a bit, too out of breath to laugh loud or for long, and felt Oikawa’s lips brush his temple.

Ushijima wanted to tell Oikawa how long he had wanted this. He wanted to tell Oikawa that he respected and admired him, even that he’d fantasized about him. He wanted to give Oikawa the world. He knew that the post-coital glow was turning his thoughts sappier than they might otherwise be, but he still felt overwhelmed, each new swell of emotion tossing him about like he weighed nothing, small and insignificant and lost in this ocean.

The last time he had felt something close to these waves of feeling regarding Oikawa, it had been after watching Oikawa suffer an unexpected defeat. He had looked at Oikawa back then, shell-shocked after he’d failed to block Hinata Shoyo’s last spike, and there had been so much he’d wanted to say. So much, but none of it would have been appropriate, so instead he had tried to share what little wisdom he’d felt like he had at the time. Oikawa had reacted with anger and scorn, and Ushijima had spent the next several months thinking about the words they’d exchanged. 

He would never be able to forget Oikawa Tooru, worthless pride and all. He wanted to tell Oikawa this now, he wanted to tell him everything now, but he didn’t even know how to put ‘everything’ into words. 

Oikawa kissed Ushijima’s temple again, then stuck his tongue in Ushijima’s ear, startling him. “What are you thinking about?” Oikawa said.

Ushijima looked at him. Oikawa’s hair was fetchingly mussed, and his lips were red and slightly swollen. He looked more relaxed than Ushijima had ever seen him, far more relaxed than either of them ever allowed themselves to be on the court.

“You,” Ushijima said. “What else would I think about right now?”

Oikawa laughed, too, a sweet low sound that felt like something secret, something just for Ushijima. “Good point.” Oikawa danced his fingers from Ushijima’s palm up his forearm, finally rubbing his hand up and down Ushijima’s bicep. Ushijima wondered if Oikawa was always this touchy and playful after sex. He hoped he’d get to find out.

It was difficult to stop thinking along these lines once he had started. They both lay there, Oikawa quiet now but still touching Ushijima, moving his hand up and down Ushijima’s arm. It was soothing, lulling Ushijima to sleep. But he didn’t want to sleep just yet, not when the air was still thick with all the things he hadn’t yet said.

“Is this….” Ushijima fumbled for the right words. He’d never dated or had sex with anyone before, and he lacked the vocabulary. He tried anyway. “What does this mean? For us.”

Oikawa’s hand stilled. “What do you want it to mean?” His voice was calm and carefully neutral, and Ushijima tried not to let that bother him too much.

“I want to be with you,” he said. It was the simplest and most true way to summarize the many things he felt. “All the time. If I can.”

Oikawa was silent, and Ushijima’s heartbeat felt strong enough to leave bruises on his pulse pointes. When he risked a look at Oikawa’s face, he saw that Oikawa’s mouth was open in surprise.

Oikawa recovered quickly when he noticed Ushijima looking. He shut his mouth and pulled a face, glancing off to the side. “‘All the time,’ so demanding! What about my quality time with Iwa-chan, hm? Or when I have to go to the bathroom? Don’t tell me you want us to go to the bathroom together, that’s disgusting.”

Ushijima let Oikawa’s words glance off of him like so much meaningless noise. He reached up, giving in to the urge to brush Oikawa’s bangs off his forehead. “Oikawa…”

Oikawa batted his hand away. “No need to get sappy! I didn’t say no, did I?” 

“You kind of did.”

“Shut up, god, you’re a pain.” Oikawa leaned close, kissing him, then speaking against his lips. “I’m no good at relationships.”

“All right.” Ushijima wrapped his arms around Oikawa, pulling him in close, taking a deep breath in when Oikawa’s hair brushed his cheek. It was enough; Oikawa’s specific brand of expressing affection only in the sharpest and most aggravating of ways was all he needed. 

“I’m serious. In the long run, you’d probably be better off with that gross older man.” Oikawa was silent after this, the disquieting remark heavy between them. Ushijima was trying to figure out how to tactfully express that he really didn’t care, that Oikawa’s surely-numerous personal flaws didn’t matter to him at all as long as Oikawa accepted him, when Oikawa sighed, a puff of breath against Ushijima’s adam’s apple.

“But if you’re willing to give it a shot, I guess we can try,” he said, his voice light again. “I can’t believe you let me come on your face!”

Ushijima shrugged. He was starting to get sleepy. Now the thought of removing either of their clothes before they slept seemed like it would take too much effort.

“I can’t believe you,” Oikawa repeated, just a mutter this time. He wiggled and settled himself with his arm beneath Ushijima’s armpit, his face against Ushijima’s chest. Ushijima doubted that their position would remain comfortable for the whole night, but it was nice for now.

Somehow the drunken, sloppy and embarrassing events of the last twenty-four hours had led them here. It seemed faintly ridiculous, and wholly fantastic. 

Ushijima was starting to cool off now that his heart rate was slow again. The parts of his body not touching Oikawa were a little chilly. He reached down and grabbed for his sheets and a blanket, trying not to disturb Oikawa too much as he covered them. In his arms, Oikawa hummed, and settled in closer.

**Author's Note:**

> I am zeegoesthere on tumblr, please feel free to come talk to me about ushioi!


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